


Electra

by auri_mynonys



Category: Jupiter Ascending (2015)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Ancient Child Syndrome, Emotional Manipulation, F/M, Incest, Lolita-ish weirdness, No Underage Sex, Parent/Child Incest, Pseudo-Incest, Reincarnation where Jupiter remembers stuff, Squicky almost pedophiliac overtones
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-17
Updated: 2017-05-02
Packaged: 2018-03-18 06:32:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,471
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3559673
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/auri_mynonys/pseuds/auri_mynonys
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU. Balem Abrasax discovers his mother's recurrence when she is only a child - a child who seems more ancient than she should.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [amusewithaview](https://archiveofourown.org/users/amusewithaview/gifts).



> I'm not entirely certain what to warn for on this fic except to say that it is HELLA squicky. Implied incesty overtones abound, and Jupiter is a little girl at the start - one who is beginning to remember some of her past life as Seraphi, but a little girl nonetheless. Please be cautious as you enter into reading this fic.

Jupiter Jones is almost seven when he descends from the heavens, trailing fire and monsters in his wake. His hair is the color of the planet for which she is named, and he wears a cloak like the night itself, dotted with golden stars. She is in love instantly and painfully, in a way she will never be in love again - in a way a little girl should never be in love.

 

She knows him. She remembers.

 

She stares and stares until the monsters grab her, holding her squirming body between scaly, clawed fingers. She screams and flails when they put the gun to her throat, and she cries for a moment when it stings. But then it glows a brilliant blue, illuminating her face; and she falls silent, awe-struck at its shining light.

 

“This is the Recurrence, my lord,” growls the tallest monster - broad-shouldered and wearing metals upon his jacket that clink softly in the cold night air. “Shall we kill her?”

 

Her prince lifts a hand, long fingered and pale, and bids the monsters to release her without speaking a single word. He is effortlessly powerful, and Jupiter is bewitched by him.

 

 _I made him that way_ , she thinks; but the thought is foreign to her young mind, and she flinches back from it, focusing instead upon his neck

 

“Why are you wearing a collar?” she asks. It catches her eye in the moonlight, beautiful gold with a burning crescent moon.

 

He tilts his head, his gaze sweeping over her, through her. “It is protection,” he says. His voice is a low, hoarse whisper - almost as soft as her own. “Members of my family require much protecting, Jupiter.”

 

She is not the least bit surprised that he knows her name already. She does not understand it then, but she feels sure he has always known it, that it is written in his very genes - as his, she believes, is in hers. “Why?” she asks, stepping closer. “Who would ever want to hurt you?”

 

It is this, it seems, that finally decides him. Something warm and certain flickers in his eyes, and he drops to his knees before her, slow and dignified, holding out a hand for hers. “There are many in the universe who seek to destroy what is mine,” he says. “It is dangerous to be royalty, Jupiter - as you will soon learn.”

 

“Royalty?” Jupiter is breathless, her heart pounding against her tiny ribs. “So you _are_ a prince?”

 

He smiles, beautiful and terrible and monstrous. His eyes glitter, and Jupiter feels ice in her veins. “I am Entitled,” he says. “To this planet. To time. To you.” He lifts a hand and holds it out to her. “You will come with me, Jupiter,” he says. “You are an Abrasax now.”

 

She blinks, confused and uncertain of the word - _a-BRA-sax_. She turns it over in her head. It tastes familiar on her tongue, like an echo of an echo. _No, not yet. Don’t go there yet_. Jupiter blinks again and rubs her eyes with a curled fist, her head aches. _Don’t touch it. Don’t look too close. It hurts too much to remember_. “Does that make me a princess?” she asks instead. She has always liked princesses, has always imagined she might be one - the little girl taking hold again.

 

He takes her hand. His fingers are cold around hers, and his grip is tighter than she would like. “It is a gift,” he says. “Be grateful I am offering it to you at all.”

 

Icy dread fills her - dread that he might leave her, rescinding the gift that he is offering now. Jupiter thinks of the place she calls home here - the place that never feels like home. She thinks of the bed she shares with her mother and the posters she puts on the wall, the posters of galaxies that reflect her dreams and yet are never, ever enough. She thinks of her Auntie Nino and the promise Nino has made all Jupiter’s short life: that Jupiter is destined for great things.

 

_The vastness of space, open and endless and calling your name..._

 

Jupiter blinks until the words are gone. “Is this my destiny?” she asks. “Auntie Nino says - ”

 

Her prince’s eyes flash, and he bares his teeth in a snarl, rising in a swirl of dark silk. “Do not speak of tercies as if they are your family,” he says. His voice quivers with his anger, and the skies themselves seem to spin around him, as if the earth will tear itself apart at the first tremor of his rage. Jupiter merely stares, awed but unafraid. The storm will pass. Storms always do - and his are quickly spent.

 

Her stern and certain face seems to calm him, and the tension melts away from him, released upon a breath. “They are nothing, Jupiter,” he whispers, tilting his head. “They are nothing. But you - you, my child, are everything.”

 

Jupiter closes her eyes and tastes that word: _everything_. She sees herself as constellations, as glittering nebulae in the vast darkness of space - as soil and stars and every creature she can name in a breath. _Everything_.

 

She remembers that feeling: remembers what it was to be endless, and feels eternity swelling in her blood.

 

When she opens her eyes, some of her childishness is gone. The makings of a queen are there in her face - in the hard angle of her jaw, the coldness of her eyes, the firm set of her little mouth. Her genes remember, even if she cannot grasp it yet. All she needs is time.

 

She holds up her arms in a silent plea. For an instant, they stand there, she and her savior: he looming over her, she below him, staring up into his face. His hand trembles as he holds it out towards her, touching her small fingers. The air between them shudders and seems to crackle; then, in an instant, he sweeps her up into his arms, clutching her to him so tightly that it’s almost painful.

 

“Shall we go home, mother?” he whispers, pressing his nose against her cheek.

  
She lowers her head and nestles against her shoulder, breathing the scent of his collar and his skin. “Home,” she murmurs, and closes her eyes.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Balem brings Jupiter to his alcazar on Gehenna, where Kalique is waiting for him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Balem's POV chapter. Prepare for some HELLA creepiness from him. He is extremely possessive of Jupiter and cannot distinguish between Jupiter as an individual and his mother - his plan as of this moment is essentially to groom Jupiter into a new Seraphi. So, be braced for some alarming behavior on his part.

The child smells of Earth, like dirt and labor and the endless drudgery of terrsie life - and yet still she is perfection, a bundle of tanned flesh and dark hair and darker brows, wearing starlight and ancient wisdom in her eyes. Somewhere beneath her lowly exterior, this child remembers him. Balem has no doubt of it. His mother lives in Jupiter, in the very essence of what she is. Seraphi will walk again among the stars one day, and soon - brought up under Balem’s hand. Together they will rule as one, as Seraphi always intended.

 

Four hundred years ago he took his mother’s life. Now he means to give it back to her.

 

The child stirs and nestles close to him, burrowed beneath his silken sheets. He had prepared a room for her where she might spend the journey on her own, but now that she is here, he finds he cannot release her even for a moment. _My child_ , he thinks, _My child. My mother. Mine._

 

He loves her. She is utterly his and he loves her, as vastly as the Gyre itself. He will devote himself to her every detail, to raising her as she deserves. In turn, she will be his adoring child, following the life he sets before her with obedience and exuberance, trusting and admiring him with the same unending ardor he once held for Seraphi.

 

Things will not end the way they once did, with Jupiter’s hands about his throat. History will not repeat itself for him. He will not make his mother’s mistakes.

 

His fingers tremble over her small face, tangling in her hair. He pauses there and holds her, staring without blinking, afraid to break his gaze. _My child. My child._

 

“Swear that you will love me,” he whispers to her sleeping form. “Swear that you will love me best of all, that you will cherish me as I now cherish you - that you will reward my generosity with all you have to give me. Become the queen I mean to make of you and you shall reap every reward, achieve every dream.” His grip tightens upon her, and she frowns in her sleep, her small face contorting painfully. “Do you understand, Jupiter?” he asks, his voice muted and hoarse. “Do you understand what I ask, what I offer?”

 

The child does not respond, of course; but Balem does not expect her to. She will know without words what he intends. She has his mother’s genes, after all.

 

“Together we shall make the very stars tremble,” he says; and in her sleep, Jupiter smiles.

 

* * *

 

Gehenna hangs like a gray stone in space, remote and isolated and ruined. Beneath its surface lie thousands of gems, the rarest and most valuable in the Gyre - but above, the planet hovers like the spectre of death, a reminder of what destruction awaits all planets whose parents are overeager to reap its rewards.

 

Once Gehenna was a thriving place, and now it is wasted and empty.

 

Balem prefers it that way.

 

He disembarks at his alcazar with Jupiter in his arms, still sleeping like the dead. He thinks briefly of waking her, to give her this first glimpse of her new home - but he recoils at the thought of disturbing her. Seraphi never liked to be disturbed, always coming to wakefulness with a shriek and a ready fist when he tried to force it upon her. Let Jupiter sleep awhile longer; let her wallow in precious dreams while he makes ready the house for her. There is still time - so very much, so very little. He will savor her as she is, precious and innocent, while he is able.

 

Balem’s head of household is awaiting his arrival, a trembling chameleon splice named Tanis Attor. She bows without staring, her skin the same beautiful bronze sheen as the walls of Balem’s alcazar. She will shift to match the decor of the rooms as they walk, ever-changing, ever-hiding. It is Balem’s favorite quality in her. He keeps her like a secret, sending her to blend in every corner of the house, waiting for her to report the whispers of the disloyal and disobedient.

 

“We are pleased to see you returned safely home again, my lord,” Tanis says. “And we welcome gladly the Recurrence to our halls. All has been arranged for her as you requested - chambers directly beside yours, with several connecting doors between the rooms to allow you access. I have arranged also for a tailor to be brought, and a representative from Animus Inc has arrived and eagerly awaits an audience with Her Majesty, to arrange the designs for her splice servants.”

 

Balem blinks slowly, inclining his head in acknowledgment. “You have done well, Tanis,” he says. “Inform the representative that Her Majesty is resting and will see him this evening.”

 

He makes to pass her, but Tanis clears her throat. “Your sister is also here, demanding an audience,” she says. “She wishes to greet the Recurrence.”

 

Balem shudders, his grip tightening upon Jupiter. Beset at all sides by enemies, even those he had hoped might know better. Already the vultures are convening, circling, determined to take from him the prized jewel of his victory. They must know what he and the Recurrence will do one day, how together they will rule as King and Queen.

 

_You cannot stop us, Kalique. Our mother longed for this. Even you cannot fight fate._

 

Still, he looks to the child for reassurance, pressing his lips to the top of her head. “What right has she to you, my Jupiter?” he murmurs. “We must tell her, mustn’t we - that she has no place here...”

 

“My lord?” Tanis leans closer, tilting towards him.

 

“ _When I speak to you, you will know it!_ ” The shout cracks across the balcony like a whip, and Tanis flinches back at once. Jupiter starts and whimpers, hiding against his throat. Poor child, poor precious child. Balem presses her close, his eyes watering. “Now you have made me frighten her,” he whispers, staring Tanis down.

 

“I am heartily sorry, my lord,” Tanis says, her voice shaking. “It was never my intent.”

 

“See that it does not happen again.” He strides around her, leaving her cowering upon the floor. “Announce our arrival to my sister and let her know that I will join her when it pleases me,” he says.

 

He does not wait for Tanis’ answer. He knows she will obey him. All obey him here, where he is lord and master, where all is in his control.

 

Even Jupiter.

 

_Especially_ Jupiter.

 

* * *

 

Balem trusts no one enough to take the recurrence to her rooms - rooms which he so carefully chose and crafted for her, as soon as her gene print was discovered. He thinks at first to leave her alone there, with the door tightly locked and Sargorns upon each side to protect her; but even that notion is hateful to him. Four hundred years is not so long in the life of an Entitled, and yet it feels like an eternity to Balem - four hundred years since he held his mother last, four hundred years since he set his hands about her throat and watched the life slip from her eyes.

 

Not this time. Never again.

 

So he carries Jupiter to the sitting room where Kalique now waits, loath though he is to display his prize. He may have shared his mother, but he will not be so generous with Jupiter.

 

He enters, and Kalique rises, dressed in a gown that glitters even here in the darkest of his chambers. How apt, he thinks; for Kalique is like a trick of the light, there one instant and gone the next, impossible to grasp and too lovely to ignore.

 

“So it is true,” Kalique says, her voice low and reverent. “You have found her again.”

 

There is a desperate light in Kalique’s eyes, an open wound Balem can nearly taste within her heart: another chance, another life, my mother as a little girl… In that moment he remembers her as she was, young and beautiful and radiant as little Jupiter, trusting and buoyant and desperate for Seraphi’s attention, grasping for Balem and for Seraphi both.

 

Now Kalique is Seraphi’s echo, poised and cautious and contained; but Balem still knows the cracks of her broken heart, and he can smell her weakness even as she does her best to cloak it from him.

 

He smiles, toothy and wide and as if it pains him. “It is true,” he says. “And here she will remain until she is of legal age to accept her inheritance.”

 

Kalique seems to flicker in and out as she moves, her smile poised and perfect as she takes a step towards him. “My dear brother,” she says, holding out a glittering hand to him. She reminds him just then of Tanis, shifting her colors to suit her present need, appearing before him in the guise of a friend and sister. This trick she did not learn from Seraphi; this trick she and Titus share, some gift Serpahi built into their genes but did not give Balem, and certainly never possessed herself. “I am unspeakably happy for you - for us all as siblings. Now we may truly be united as a family once more.”

 

Balem does not take the hand that is offered. Jupiter is still in his arms, after all, a weight against his chest; and he does not mean to let her go anytime soon. “Is that your wish, Kalique?” he says, staring hard into her eyes. “Is it your wish for us all to be family? Or is it, perhaps, your wish to make of this child the relationship you always desired with Mother?”

 

Kalique’s smile holds, but it is colder and sharper. “She is only a child, Balem,” she says. “Children need their mothers - as you know better than most.”

 

Balem blinks at last, slowly, lingering in the instant where his eyes are closed and all he knows is Jupiter’s warmth. “She was mine first,” he says. “She was always really mine. All who came after were but interlopers in a space meant for she and I.”

 

Kalique’s eyes harden, but she says nothing to that. “I would hold her,” she says. “Just for a moment.”

 

Balem wears a flicker of a smile as he turns his back. “She does not need your maternal influence, Kalique,” he says. “She is where she belongs - with me.”

 

There is a whisper of fabric as Kalique follows after him, trailing him like a ghost. “You cannot secret her away forever, Balem,” she says. “One day she will need us.”

 

Balem pauses in the door, but does not speak. “Say good-bye, Kalique,” he says, “While you are able.”

 

Kalique draws in a sharp breath. “This will not be goodbye,” she says. “I will see her again.”

 

“In time, perhaps,” Balem says. “In time.”

 

He lets the door close before Kalique can speak another word, and with its closing shuts her out of thought and word. She will be angry, he does not doubt, but she has not the strength to fight him yet; and she has no claim to Jupiter, not even as her mother’s child.

 

He wanders the halls with Jupiter in his arms. The representative from Animus Inc is waiting, but Jupiter is still so peaceful, and Balem himself so tired… No, the representative may wait upon Balem’s pleasure, and Jupiter’s. Now, Balem will spend his hours with Jupiter instead.

 

“To bed, Jupiter,” he whispers. “To bed for us both. Tomorrow is a new day, and there is so much to be done…”


	3. 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Seraphi lingers in the corners of young Jupiter's mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys, I am so sorry for the insanely long delay in updating this. I've actually had this chapter written for a long time, I just fell out of the fandom and lost the dangling plot threads of this fic. I'm not sure when it will next update after this, but I wanted to share what I had with you.

When Jupiter awakens, she is floating, bathed in blue light. At first it does not feel unnatural to her, though she is dimly aware that it should; then wakefulness hits her full force, and she bolts upright in the beam of light, heart in her throat.

“Good morning, Jupiter,” says a voice - female, kindly but unfamiliar. “Please do not be alarmed. I am your chamber presence. Lie still while I lower you to the floor.”

The beam carries Jupiter unresisting to the ground while she lies tensely in its grip, her small fingers curled into fists. She exhales sharply when her feet touch the ground - cold, unpleasantly cold, like the vastness of space, like her dreams. She shivers and wraps her arms around herself. She’s wearing a new dress; it looks like solid gold but feels lighter and softer than a feather. She touches it with awe, eyes wide and dazzled.  _ I am a princess now. _

“Do you like it?”

Jupiter starts, whirling. The gown swirls around her in a perfect spiral, lifting from the floor and floating downwards again with graceful ease. She thinks of Cinderella and the animation of her ballgown, and aches for an instant for home.

_ He  _ is sitting by her bed, his eyes shadowed and hollow. An enormous black cloak seems to swallow him, swathing him in darkness too deep for Jupiter to penetrate. He seems massive then, as if he would cow her, as if he would impress her.

Jupiter is frightened. The part of her that isn’t her is merely amused.

“Where am I?” Jupiter whispers, her voice very small. “Is this your castle?”

“ _ Alcazar, _ ” he corrects. His voice is as light and gentle as the gown she wears. Jupiter thinks of her tennis shoes and jeans and longs for them. This gossamer thing will not protect her from that stare. “Yes, it is mine… and yours as well, Jupiter. You are home.”

Jupiter looks around the room. There are no toys here, no shelf of careworn dolls, no box of dress-up clothes from the secondhand store. The room is gold and bronze and  _ cold,  _ empty of anything she might love aside from him.

“I want my toys,” she says.

_ Good,  _ the voice that is not hers whispers.  _ Tell him, push him. Remind him who you are. _

His eyes narrow, but he lets them close before she can assume he’s angry, dipping his head as if she is a queen whose whims he must obey. “You shall have everything you desire and more, sweet Jupiter. You have but to ask it.”

Jupiter bites her lip. “Can I have breakfast? I like french toast.”

Her prince smiles, exposing all his teeth. He reminds her a little of a dinosaur just then - the way his face crinkles, the way his mouth seems so large by comparison. “For today,” he says. “But soon you shall try other delicacies. The Gyre has much to offer besides your terrsie fare, and you may soon find you have no stomach for such bland food.”

He rises, and Jupiter is suddenly aware of how large he is, how frightening. He towers above her small form, his hands folded before him. She remembers those hands, those fingers. For a moment, her throat aches and closes.

“Would you like to see your new home first?” he asks. He holds out his hand to her, and Jupiter stares at it. She almost remembers what his fingers felt like, how they touched her cheek and gripped her and shook her when he was angry.  _ Not yet. Not yet. It’s just a nightmare. Let it be a nightmare.  _ She shakes her head to clear it and the memory is gone. She wonders what it was she was so afraid of, what had happened to make her pause. She shrugs and reaches out, giving up her fingers to his. He closes his hand over hers, so tightly it almost hurts, and guides her towards a set of curtained doors, flicking his wrist to open them.

They open on silent hinges to reveal desolation.

Jupiter imagined her prince might live in a kindgom made of gold, with towering spires and beautiful townspeople bustling to and fro on streets of mercury glass. Instead he lives in a wasteland: a flat, gray emptiness that stretches bleakly on into forever.

Jupiter recoils.

“I don’t want to live here,” she says. “It’s ugly, it’s awful!” And then she bursts into tears, yanking her hand free of his.

_ Careful, child, careful. You’ll make him angry. You’ll make him sad. _

**_Go away, go away, go away,_ ** Jupiter thinks.  **_I don’t want you here._ **

She sobs and imagines home, her mother’s gentle hands, a box of dolls and toys and a bed with her posters beside it. She pulls her knees to her chest and rocks back and forth, laying her head against them.

Like a shadow, her prince follows, looming above her for a moment before he drops onto his knees beside her. “You loved this planet once,” he says. His voice is quivering, violent, and Jupiter shrinks beneath it. It is unstable, frightening, like a dam about to crack. “You  _ loved  _ it here. You made it this way.  _ You made it this way!” _

His voice rises and rings above her head, like a slap to her cheek, and Jupiter coils in upon herself, sobbing harder.  **_I want to go home I want to go home I want I want I want -_ **

“You were supposed to remember,” he hisses. His face is close to hers, hanging just before her knees. She knows if she looks up she’ll see him there, but she is terrified to. She doesn’t know why he wants her to know this place, but she remembers his face crumpling, red and angry like a newborn baby’s, freckles standing out against his cheeks - she remembers -

**_no no no no stop i don’t want to remember stop -_ **

She looks up, face streaked with tears, tugging at her lip with her teeth. “I thought it would be pretty,” she whispers. “Like you. Like the stars. I thought there would be gold towers and roads paved with jewels and rainbow glass hanging out the windows - ”

He goes very still. The muscles in his face slacken, and his eyes are wide and startled. “You - you would have it as it was,” he whispers, his voice trembling. “Like in the old days, when we came here long ago.”

Jupiter doesn’t know what he’s talking about - she’s never been here before, never left Earth. She’s dreamed of this place she’s speaking of, though; can picture the towers and the glass almost exactly. When she closes her eyes, she sees rubies beneath her feet, stained glass spinning in the breeze, jewels in colors she doesn’t even have names for in the hair of passerby -

She sees _ him _ , walking beside her, holding her hand. And she remembers.

“I used to dream about it,” she says. “A long time ago. I drew a picture. My teacher liked it.” She shuffles her feet. “I don’t want it to be ugly,” she says. “Can you make it pretty again, Balem?”

And there it is: she knows his name now, suddenly, as if it’s always been buried in her subconscious somewhere. It rolls off her tongue intimately, easily, even though it tastes strange to her, like a food she’s never tried.

He starts and trembles at the sound of his name, full lips parting with a small, wet sound. He looks like a child then to her, even though she is the child: she wants to pat him on the head, stroke his hair and tell him it’s all fine now, Mother’s here.  _ Mother’s here, sweet Balem. _

She blinks, and the thought is gone, lost with all the other whispers of the self she doesn’t know.

Balem sits silent for a long moment, then gathers her to his chest in a suffocating grip. He cradles her as if she is both delicate and fragile, and he sobs into her shoulder.  Jupiter stands stiffly in his arms, trying hard not to move. She has never seen an adult man cry before. Come to think of it, she’s never seen an  _ adult  _ cry before. The urge rises again - to pet him, to soothe him, to tell him  _ mother’s here… _

“I knew you had not forgotten,” he whispers; and in that instant Jupiter catches a scent,  _ his  _ scent, familiar as the smell of her old stuffed bear at home. He smells like metal and satin and a spice she can’t name - like darkness she knows in her dreams. She smiles and leans into the crook of his neck, at last returning his embrace.

“Can we make it pretty again?” she repeats.

He pulls back and cups her face in his hands, running his thumbs over his cheeks.

“Yes, Jupiter,” he says, in his hoarse whisper-voice. “We will do whatever will please you.”


End file.
